


Lessons on Snow Day

by Cake_isnt_pie_sam



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Discovery Kink, Hair-pulling, Incest, M/M, Weecest, Wincest - Freeform, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-06
Updated: 2014-09-06
Packaged: 2018-02-16 07:48:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2261670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cake_isnt_pie_sam/pseuds/Cake_isnt_pie_sam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and the boys get caught in a snow storm at Bobby's house. No TV, no radio, nothing. John and Bobby are busy doing research in the kitchen and of course, when the men are away, the boys will play...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lessons on Snow Day

**Author's Note:**

> (I don't own SPN or the boys. Feedback always appreciated!)

It was the winter of 1999, halfway through the snowstorm of the season. John had taken a case just outside of South Dakota. They'd barely managed to get to Bobby's before it was just too much. Within three days, they were snowed in. No hunts happening while the snow was piled nearly up to the impala's roof. Sam was just glad they'd gotten their clothes and gun out before getting stranded behind the front door.

John, of course, took this time to call around, do research on his own stuff while Sam and Dean sat in the living room trying to get the old TV to work.

Dean lounged on the couch, flicking a remote through station after station. "Static," Dean droned beside him. _Flick_. "Louder static." _Flick_. "Muted static." Dean sighed, turning the TV off and tossing the remote onto the cluttered table. "Nothin' good on!" He called out to John who sat in the kitchen with Bobby, both with phones to their ears.

John was probably sick of hearing them complain, so he sent them upstairs to 'get some practice in or teach Sammy about revolvers.' Of course, Sam nearly darted up the stairs at the chance to get away from Bobby on one phone talkin' about tulpas and John on the other talking about missing bodies from morgues. If he was a normal kid, it'd be a snow day. But of course, Sam knew better.

Bobby recently cleared a portion of one of the bedrooms and stuck a large futon in there for them to share. Sam was already sitting in the center of the empty floor space, cross-legged like a little kid, trying really hard not to crack a huge grin as Dean finally trudged up the stairs, hands in his jeans pockets.

"Gee kid, I wish I had your kind of energy," Dean said, shaking his head. A gray shirt hung snugly to his broad shoulders and was kind of wrinkled from laying on the couch. His jeans hung lowly on his hipbones, the fabric just lightly skimming the floor under his bare feet.

Sam spotted a sliver of skin between the two articles of clothing--the familiar flatness of his brother's stomach peeking out. Teasing. Sam's breath caught in his throat, causing him to cough out and avert his eyes.

"Ah shut up. It's not like you're sixty or anything. Besides, just cause I can outrun you doesn't mean you're getting old," Sam said, jumping up to his feet to stand in front of Dean.

Dean leaned back only slightly and took in the sight of Sam, whistling a low note. "You're nearly as tall as me now." Sam noticed him swallow before Dean's eyes darted over to the folded up futon leaning against the wall. "Anyway, I've always been stronger. Don't even need your help with unfolding that thing later."

"You _always_ need help unfolding the futon," Sam mumbled. "Watch I can do it all by myself." He turned from Dean only to feel a tight grip in his hair, keeping him from going _anywhere_. Sam swallowed, the sharp pain shooting straight down his spine in little tingly waves. He shuddered under Dean's grasp.

"Nah, I don't need my pain in the ass little brother to upstage me right now," Dean said, grinning. His fingers coiled up in Sam's hair a little tighter.

Sam's eyelid's fluttered closed as he took a controlled breath inward. "Stop that," he warned, but Dean's nails dug into the nape of his neck just slightly. Before Sam could even protest a second time, he felt Dean's mouth against his ear. "Say uncle," Dean mouthed.

Keeping the noise from escaping his throat, he bit his bottom lip. "Ah man," Sam mumbled out. "Really this probably isn't a good i--"

" _Boys,"_ John's voice bellowed through the house. _Shit._ They were in trouble. Well, Sam was. He was sloppy. Fingers lingered on Dean's thigh too long when Sam was inspecting Dean's stitches on Sunday. Stared at Dean's shower slicked hair and wet chest too long when he got out of the shower on Wednesday. Bumped his hand against Dean's one too many times in passing. Somehow he _knew._ Sam was sure of it

The two of them jumped back and away from each other as though they were doing something wrong. Maybe they were. Minor details, at best. Sam didn't look at Dean as he rushed out the door to head to the kitchen, but he felt Dean's eyes on _him_.

Dean wasn't far behind him as they skidded toward their dad. Sam held his breath. Dean's hands were balled up in his pockets. Sam was sure their hearts were both beating wildly.

"Boys," John turned, looking between them and raising his eyebrow at their heavy breathing.

Sam felt his heart beating into his throat.

"Outta my sight for three minutes before you two are goin' at it," John said, shaking his head, the hint of a smile on his lips. "Don't go easy on him just because he's your brother," he warned Dean, to which Dean grinned slyly, eyes meeting Sam's for just a moment.

"Oh, yes sir," Dean said slowly.

Sam swallowed, nearly falling over with the irony.

"Good. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you dinner's ready," John said simply, turning back to his journal.

Bobby handed them both bowls . "Chili on the stove, crackers on the counter. I know you two are hungry. Ya sure look it. Now eat."

Sam let out a nervous laugh as they both filled their bowls and Dean grinned widely at Sam.

They sat on the floor in the other room, only a good ten feet from their father and bobby, both back on the phone.

"Sammy." _Dean._

Sam refused to turn to look at him, even turned his body to face the kitchen, his back to Dean.

"Saaaaammy," Dean said again, his spoon clinking on the bowl. After a good minute of Sam ignoring him, Sam felt Dean's fingers at the base of his spine, just above his pj pants. "You can't keep ignoring me," Dean said simply, his fingers dragging over each vertebra individually.

Sam shivered beneath Dean's light touch, still stubborn enough to pretend Dean didn't exist. He kept his eyes glued on his father, who could literally look up at any minute. He swallowed.

Dean moved closer, his voice low and quiet in Sam's ear. "Aw, little brother. You know I hate being ignored." And the fingers slid from the base of his neck up into his hair, nails scratching just slightly. Suddenly Sam felt the tension between his legs, all too real against the empty chili bowl.

Sam couldn't stop the whimper that came out of his mouth. He was so screwed.

John half-glanced at them, hand over the mouthpiece of the phone. "What?" He was jotting something back in his book before he could even get an answer, thankfully.

Dean's hand stilled in Sam's hair, unmoving. "Nothing, sir!" Dean called out because Sam couldn't even try to use words.

"See what happens when you ignore me, little brother?" Dean whispered against Sam's ear, gripping his hair tightly. "How do ya think dad would react if he saw you like this, huh?"

Sam bit his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, fingers wrapped tightly around his chili spoon. He felt Dean's grin against his ear, a low laugh before the grip on his hair was released. Dean stood, taking his bowl into the kitchen.

Sam stayed seated, not risking going into the kitchen with a massive hard-on.

"Dean," John mumbled away from the phone. "Keep outta the kitchen now. Go teach your brother something. "

Sam didn't even need to see the glorious grin on his older brother's face when it was in his voice, clear as day.

_"Already have, sir."_


End file.
